


Shape of their Hearts

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Series: Addicted to Love [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Deep Roads, M/M, Never Have I Ever, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 09:39:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8244679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: Cullen and Fenris get to know each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [havvke (Wintertree)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wintertree/gifts).



> I started writing another chapter of smut for this series, but my brain wouldn't let me finish until I had written how they came to care for each other, beyond their physical relationship. I told my brain to get its priorities straight, and it didn't listen. So, have some feels, starting with a playful - and angsty - game of "I Never." 
> 
> Just to warn you, I'm pretty sure these two will have to break up.

The three of them sprawl by the fire, talking, Fenris leaning against Cullen, both bare-chested. Everyone has armor nearby, but they’ve found an area free of darkspawn for their camp. Cullen’s arms are around Fenris as though he is a life line. And, considering the increasing frequency of battle, perhaps he is.

 

They seem so close after only a few weeks of-of caboodling. They’d known each other nearly a decade and probably worked closely rebuilding Kirkwall for three years. He wasn’t jealous: Cullen was like a brother and Fenris was not his type, man or not. Just… he could do without his ex-roommate’s lazy thumb tracing Fenris’ tattoo over his chest. From Fenris’ reaction, that is definitely _doing something_ to the elf, but Cullen isn’t even aware he is doing it.

 

“Ugh. I would say get a room, but…” Alistair waves toward the vast darkness around their camp.

 

Cullen realizes then, but when he pulls his hand away, Fenris grabs it and flattens it against his chest again.

 

“Sorry, I, uh…” Cullen is caught between apologizing and deciding how hard to fight Fenris. The elf smirks.

 

“Don’t worry about it; I’m just giving you grief.” Alistair rolls his eyes and flicks his fingers at their chests. “That’s kind of necessary right now. What happens in the Deep Roads stays in the Deep Roads, right?”

 

Cue awkward pause while both Cullen and Fenris freeze. “Yes of course,” Cullen agrees. _Or not._

 

This awkward pause will be vicious. Alistair he claps his hands once, startling both companions. “I’ve got just the thing.” He stands to dig through his pack. “Yes! All right.” He produces a flask, its shape comfortable in his hand. _Yeah, tonight needs to not._ He moves to the general food supply and finds two bottles. “Here we go.” He hands the wine to Cullen and Fenris, but keeps the flask for himself. “Now we’re ready.”

 

“Alistair, are you suggesting we play _that_?” Cullen’s jaw sets.

 

Alistair grins back at him. _Some things never change._ “Of course! I never get to play _that_ , Wardens forget their pasts.”

 

“Not to mention you’re too old!”

 

Fenris cuts in: “What are we playing?”

 

“I Never!” Alistair crows.

 

Fenris is confused. “You never what?”

 

“Exactly! It’s a drinking game.”

 

Cullen digs for a knife to pry the cork out of his wine bottle, groaning and jostling Fenris. “Don’t encourage him, it’s completely stupid.”

 

Fenris’ lips quirk as he watches Cullen’s efforts. “What are the rules?”

 

“Like the best drinking games, this one is simple. Someone says ‘Never have I ever…’ and finishes the sentence. If you’ve done whatever it is, you drink. The goal is to say things others will drink to, but you won’t. Embarrassing things are best.”

 

“Simple enough.” Fenris borrows Cullen’s belt knife to pry his cork out of the bottle, then helps Cullen with his cork.

 

“What’s in your flask? Water?” Cullen challenges Alistair as Fenris hands his bottle and knife back. He puts away his knife.

 

Alistair laughs. “No, it’s not water. Here, take a whiff.”

 

Cullen puts his nose over the mouth of the flask and inhales deeply, just as Alistair hoped. He coughs and chokes. “What _is_ that, paint thinner?” Fenris leans forward to avoid getting shaken by Cullen’s spasms. Alistair points it Fenris’ direction, but he raises his eyebrows and slowly shakes his head. _Well, he’s not dumb._

 

Alistair sets the flask down to rub his hands together. “So, I’ll get things started, shall I? Never have I ever eaten snails.”

 

Fenris drinks.

 

“Ugh,” says Alistair.

 

Cullen glares at him. “Never have I ever eaten cheese that _smells_ like _feet_!”

 

Alistair holds his breath to swallow. Cullen and Alistair drink while Fenris watches, bemused and mystified. The liquid is fire down his throat. He lets the warmth spread through him.

 

“Feet? Really? Why?”

 

Cullen jerks his head toward Alistair. “He dared me. I was young and stupid.”

 

“I did not! I offered it. It’s delicious! It’s fine cheese! A Rochebaron!” Alistair points a finger at them as he says, “You-you heathens.”

 

“Was it really good cheese?” Fenris mumbles.

 

“It was all right.” Cullen shrugs.

 

Alistair decides on payback. “Fine. I never licked a Lamppost in Winter.”

 

“Why do that one?! You licked it, too!”

 

“Revenge, of course!”

 

Alistair and Cullen drink. The warmth spreads further this time.

 

“Is this an innuendo? Should I be drinking, too?” Fenris twists to look between the two Chantry boys.

 

“It’s a staff,” Cullen explains.

 

“And my question remains.”

 

“No, you shouldn’t drink.”

 

Alistair thought of one he’d be sure to win. “Never have I ever kissed a man.”

 

Cullen and Fenris drink. Alistair can hear a gulp from one of them over the crackling of the campfire.

 

Fenris gripes, “What is the point of this game?”

 

Alistair laughs. “If I added ‘with a man’ to various things…”

 

A sharp “No!” from Cullen.

 

“…I would be cheating. And I don’t want to know.”

 

Cullen tries one. “Never have I ever skinny dipped.”

 

“Damn it, during the Blight, swim wear was not exactly…”

 

“Drink, Alistair!” Cullen insists.

 

Alistair drinks, this time breathing more than he should and catching fumes in his nose. He breathes them back out quickly.

 

“Never have I ever injured myself to impress someone,” Fenris says.

 

“Shit.” Cullen drinks.

 

Alistair drinks quietly. She definitely wasn’t impressed with fresh battle scars. He hopes they don’t ask, but they’re distracting each other.

 

Cullen raises an eyebrow at Fenris.

 

“What?”

 

“Giant brass statue. Tell me you weren’t trying to impress Hawke with that flying leap. You didn’t get up till Varric got that injury kit on you; I saw it during a lull.”

 

“Fasta vass. That wasn’t-”

 

“Drink, Fenris!” Alistair encourages.

 

Fenris drinks with a disgusted noise.

 

Cullen has thought of one to catch Alistair. “I never took food out of a trash can and ate it.” _Damn it._

 

“You’ve _got_ to be – one time! _One_ time I did that, and it still had its wrapper on.”

 

“That’s okay, Alistair. I ate more than one thing from the trash, wrapper or no.” Fenris swigs his wine and glares at Cullen.

 

Cullen’s smile fades. “I’m an idiot.”

 

“Wait, what am I missing?”

 

“Oh, just take your drink, Alistair,” Cullen says. “Someone else’s turn to make a fool of themselves.”

 

Fenris smirks and rests his head against Cullen’s chest again. “I doubt it. Never have I ever fallen asleep on the job.”

 

“Wait, I need definitions. My first big job took over a year. I slept as much as I could.”

 

“As much as you could?” Cullen probes.

 

“Yeah, I was getting nightmares,” Alistair grumbled.

 

“Just during the Blight Year? Was it your connection to darkspawn?” Cullen asks.

 

“Look, I can’t talk about it. Think what you want. So, Fenris, definition?”

 

“Sleeping when people who rely on you expect you to be doing something other than sleeping, while on the job.”

 

Alistair drinks and hopes the burn he feels isn’t his cheeks. Cullen and Fenris laugh at him. “I was hoping I could mask it.”

 

Alistair shoots in the dark. He’s heard good stories from this one. “Never have I ever gone anywhere with someone, just to be seen by an ex.”

 

“Fasta vass.” Fenris drinks. “Hawke. Hanged Man with Isabela.”

 

Alistair feels a pang of sympathy, regrets he stirred up the bitterness in Fenris’ voice. “You could lie.”

 

“This game is pointless enough already.”

 

“All right. Your turn, then.” As if they are tracking turns.

 

“Never have I ever sunbathed nude.”

 

Cullen drinks.

 

“What?” Fenris surprised himself; he wasn’t trying to catch Cullen.

 

“Serious vitamin D deficiency. Roof of Kinloch.”

 

Alistair tilts his head. “That place has a roof?”

 

“Yeah, remember that’s where Karl and Anders snuck off to?”

 

Fenris interjects before Alistair can respond: “Wait, Anders was with Karl at _your_ Circle?”

 

“We trained there a little. I barely met him in Kinloch.”

 

Alistair nods. “Neither of us knew him well.”

 

“I was there maybe a year before he joined the Wardens. Karl was in Kirkwall by then.”

 

“Escaped to the Wardens,” Alistair amends. “Cousland did him a favor, there. Ser Rylock had him in her crosshairs, from what I heard.”

 

Cullen says, “Yes, well, that was a brilliant solution.”

 

Alistair’s old frustration over that situation bubbles up through the alcohol already fuzzing his edges. “Why the void did they put a templar on him? I’ve known dozens of mages, and none of them had templar keepers.” They look at him. “What?”

 

Cullen rolls his eyes. “Nothing, Alistair. Whose turn is it?”

 

“I’ll go,” Fenris volunteers. “I’ve never had sex on the job.”

 

Alistair shouldn’t ask again. “Fenris –”

 

“Same definitions as before. Only counts if someone was counting on you not to be having sex during that time.”

 

“Damn it.” Alistair drinks.

 

“Well!” Cullen raises his eyebrows.

 

Alistair shrugs. “I wasn’t guarding anything, Rutherford. We were tracking darkspawn. Believe me, the darkspawn still got tracked.”

 

Cullen gets a mischievous grin and aims it at Fenris.

 

“Never have I ever gotten a tattoo.”

 

“Really?” Fenris is nonplussed.

 

“Yes, really. I’m ruthless.” Cullen nuzzles Fenris’ hair.

 

“Ugh.” Fenris drinks.

 

Alistair shrugs and takes another burning sip, which washes down the bile. Fenris is right, no point in lying.

 

“Seriously? When?” from Cullen, of course. Alistair avoided pain when he could, in school.

 

“The Blight Year. One of our party was a tattoo artist. He was – rather good, actually. He convinced me.” Alistair feels his ears turning pink.

 

Fenris smirks. “Where is it?”

 

“Ah, no, just my shoulder.” Alistair ignores the doubting twitch of Fenris’ head this disclaimer inspires.

 

Cullen looks at him like he doesn’t even know him. Alistair realizes sadly he doesn’t after over a decade.

 

“Well? Can we see it?”

 

“Yeah, sure, but it’s just Grey Warden heraldry.” Alistair takes off his shirt to show them. It’s blue ink on his left upper arm, tips of the griffin wings stretching up onto his shoulder. He admires it himself. It’s done with more flair than the actual heraldry. The wings seem alive toward the feathered tips. The design follows the lines of his muscles, accentuating them.

 

“Your tattoo artist might be someone I know. Similar style.”

 

“I doubt it. It’s possible, but the chances are low.”

 

“Friend of Isabela’s. Zevran?”

 

“Huh. Yeah. Not that low, I guess. I forgot you knew Isabela.”

 

“Zevran gave you a tattoo and _didn’t_ kiss you?” Fenris had every right to be incredulous.

 

“He – ah – he tried.” Alistair stares at his boots, trying to cover his mortification over that old regret. “I was young and stupid and didn’t handle it well. Things were – strained after that.”

 

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Zevran is a friend. I hope you weren’t _too_ much of an ass.”

 

Alistair shook his head. “I’m not sure what I said, actually. Like I said, I was young. I missed several signs he was sending, signaled I was interested in – well, more than tattooing. He was gracious, and he finished the tattoo, but yeah, we weren’t as friendly after that. I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea again. He probably read _that_ as never wanting to speak to him, or something.” Alistair looks up from his toes and studies Fenris a moment. “You’re his friend?”

 

Fenris shrugs. “As much as anyone running for his life can be friends.”

 

“Ten years on the run. I thought _we_ had it rough. If you see him again, can you tell him I’m sorry? And I’ll help when I can.”

 

Fenris smiles gently. “Yes, Warden. I can do that.”

 

“Oh, don’t call me that. That’s weird. I was never Warden. Cousland was Warden. Call me Alistair. Or Redcliff. Not Warden.”

 

“Even after ten years? Seems so formal.”

 

“And Warden isn’t?”

 

“I’ve been hanging out with Varric too long.” Fenris shrugs. “It’s not formal if it’s not your name.”

 

“Right. Well, Redcliff is my home town, so use that.” Alistair takes a breath and stares at his flask. “I never peeked in a friend’s personal space without permission.”

 

Fenris drinks again.

 

Cullen contorts to gaze at Fenris in his lap. “Wait, who?”

 

“I’m not certain he counts as a friend, but Anders. Family, in a manner of speaking.”

 

“Anders?”

 

“He was planning _something_ , and Hawke and Varric were getting more and more concerned. I searched his clinic for clues about his plans.”

 

“Oh.” Cullen drinks.

 

“Why are _you_ drinking?”

 

“I did that to Meredith and Orsino.”

 

Alistair laughs, “You are too damn honest for your own good, Rutherford.” His head spins a little. The stone next to the fire feels comfy, for stone. He stretches his legs, leans back on his pack.

 

Fenris ignores Alistair. “You couldn’t stop them. Either of them.”

 

“It was literally my job to stop both of them, Fenris. How did I fail so miserably?”

 

Alistair shakes his head, which doesn’t stop the spinning. “Why do you think I wanted out? They set you an impossible task, Rutherford. All of you. Templars tried to keep peace, but with that much mistrust and raw power … It’s bound to fail, eventually.”  

 

“Well, we failed _spectacularly_.”

 

“Cullen, that battle was as much Anders’ fault as Meredith or Orsino.”

 

“Was it? Without Meredith’s zeal, Orsino might not have been desperate enough to research reanimation magic, blood magic. Without Orsino condoning blood magic in his ranks, Meredith might not have pushed the mages so far. Anders didn’t cause the war, Fenris. He was only the spark that ignited that pyre.”

 

“Never have I ever lit a funeral pyre!” He doesn’t know why he says it.

 

Cullen’s eyes spark at Alistair as he drinks. “You asshole. Have you forgotten Farris – Ser Farris?”

 

Alistair swallows a sudden lump in his throat. “That _was_ him. I was hoping I’d been mistaken.” He gulps a drink. Fenris raises an eyebrow at him, and he shrugs. “Cailen. I might play to lose now.”

 

Cullen turns back to the man leaning against him.

 

“Fenris, it wasn’t your fault.”

 

Fenris mimics Cullen’s tone. “Cullen, it’s no more your fault than mine.”

 

“Never hazit everr been my fault!” Alistair slurs. “Wait, shit, I ‘ave to drink, too.” He does.

 

Cullen exclaims, “Alistair, what the hell are you drinking?”

 

“Conscription Ale. My own bottle. Top-secret recipe. I don’t even know it; I just keep adding stuff in. Sun blonde something. Legacy shear. Um, white. Rotgut whiskey.”

 

Fenris drinks. “Something was my fault. I hired Hawke, brought Verania to Kirkwall and Danarius with her, didn’t tell you about Anders.”

 

Cullen drinks. “I wasn’t exactly approachable.”

 

“Considering you fought with us more than once, I figured you knew.”

 

“Remember the first time we met, he kept shouting, ‘I’ll show you why mages are feared!’ I knew he was a mage.”

 

Fenris chuckles. “That idiot. I was hoping you would nab him. Save everyone trouble. Why didn’t you?”

 

“Remember our lyrium is controlled by the Chantry?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Grand Cleric Elthenia controlled the supply in Kirkwall. Well, the official supply. She swore that anyone who attacked the Amell boy or his friends would get their doses cut. She had us drink them right there in the Chantry. First time I’d seen that. Anyway, the level of the offense would determine how much we were denied, but it would be a painful amount. Seems she owed a pretty big favor to Hawke’s old man Amell. That was her way of repaying him.”

 

“And what did it get her,” Fenris grumbles. “The very man she made untouchable orchestrated her murder, using the rest of us as pawns.” Fenris spat. “It was Hawke’s right to end it, but if he’d asked me I’d have gladly wielded the knife myself.”

 

“What do you mean, using the rest of you as pawns?” Cullen hasn’t heard this story.

 

Alistair snores.

 

“We helped him collect ingredients for his spell. He wouldn’t tell Hawke what it was, naturally.”

 

“Spell? Fenris, that was no spell. We can sense the use of magic, especially on that scale. That was something else.”

 

Fenris stills in Cullen’s arms, staring into the darkness before he takes another drink.

 

“It must’ve been gaatlok.”

 

“Gaatlok?”

 

“It’s a Qunari explosive, designed to counter Tevinter magic. Anders found the formula, maybe after the Qunari invasion. They would never release the formula to outsiders, but Anders found it in the chaos of losing their Arishok.”

 

“That’s too ironic. He did it _because_ he was a mage, but he didn’t use magic? He used a Qunari weapon? Wasn’t he… pro-Tevinter?” Cullen shakes his head, drinks. The wine is getting better as he drinks more. It tastes earthy with just a touch of apple.

 

“More than I realized at the time. Looking back, he gladly would have seen Hawke give me to Danarius.” He still doesn’t move much, haunted.

 

“Fenris, you can’t know that. Don’t torture yourself.”

 

“No, but I suspect it’s true.” Fenris nods toward Alistair’s snoring form. “Redcliff there helped me realize that Anders was family. Mage still owes me coin from Wicked Grace. Is it possible to love someone you hate?”

 

“Absolutely,” Cullen says without hesitation.

 

“Never have I ever loved someone I hate,” Fenris says in a detached voice. His shoulder ripples against Cullen’s chest as he drinks.

 

Cullen considers. There was a kid at Bourneshire he’d hated – a bully, head of his own little gang – but they are both adults now and Cullen has grown to respect him. Then there was… Cullen drinks.

 

“Who’s yours?”

 

“You won’t be surprised. It’s Meredith.”

 

Fenris tilts to look up at Cullen.

 

“Were you two…?”

 

“No.” He continues to stare past Fenris, into the void of the Deep Roads. “But I trusted her. I believed in her and that what she was doing what was right.” Cullen shakes his head. “She was setting the fuses while Orsino packed the lyrium sand. Or the gaatlok, if you prefer. That cursed red lyrium sword drove her mad. She called it Certainty. I saw her doubt occasionally. Those doubts came less frequently after she had that sword crafted. I thought it was her strength. Now I know it was her madness.”

 

“So you loved her, but now you hate her because of her betrayal?”

 

Cullen shakes his head. “It’s not that simple.”

 

Fenris says wryly, “It never is.” Cullen considers knowing Anders from Fenris’ perspective. Fenris probably understands better than most. He continues.

 

“I understood her, or thought I did. We had been through similar experiences, lost everything to mages. She believed in me. She wanted me to prepare for leadership, for her position, when she moved up. Perhaps I-I love the woman I thought she was, strong and sure and doing what needed to be done. I didn’t want to know details; I trusted her judgment. At the same time, I hate what her Certainty brought her: she became arrogant, drunk on her power, willing to push things too far at the first opportunity.”

 

Fenris considers. “You would not succumb to arrogance.”

 

Cullen snorts. “I have so little arrogance; I doubt I’ll get the opportunity.”

 

“Play your cards right, and you’d be the next Viscount, when Hawke’s done. You’ve done enough for Kirkwall.”

 

“Hawke’s _not_ done, and I have another mission, the one Cassandra Pentaghast and Divine Justinia gave me. I will try to right this wrong, end the mage-templar war I could have prevented years ago.”

 

“How, Cullen? How could you have prevented this war? By making Orsino Tranquil? By challenging Meredith to step down? Their supporters would have taken their places and perhaps started the very war you were trying to prevent.”

 

“So does this mean you don’t blame yourself for Anders anymore?”

 

“The _war_ was inevitable, but attacking the Chantry was not. Elthenia and the others might be alive if I…”

 

“Elthenia was holding us together. If the war was inevitable, then so was her death.” Cullen sounds certain in his own ears.

 

“Never have I ever blamed myself for something someone else did.”

 

Both drink.

 

Cullen wraps his arms around Fenris as they both stare into the darkness.

 


End file.
